


flicker beat

by cirrus (themorninglark)



Series: rareprompts [2]
Category: Free!
Genre: M/M, Teen Angst, Vignettes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-05
Updated: 2015-07-05
Packaged: 2018-04-07 19:28:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,050
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4275240
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/themorninglark/pseuds/cirrus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There's an art to this, thinks Kisumi, and it does not involve saying goodbye.</p>
            </blockquote>





	flicker beat

**Author's Note:**

  * For [bloomejasmine](https://archiveofourown.org/users/bloomejasmine/gifts).



> This is for Lexy, who asked for Kisurin, and who, when I said I was in the mood for writing angst, said she didn't mind angsty Kisurin. Please enjoy.
> 
> Lorde's "Yellow Flicker Beat" was my muse for this, and lent its name to the title.

When Rin leaves, he leaves nothing behind, nothing but the ashes of a trail of fire in his wake.

 

//

 

There's an art to this, thinks Kisumi.

He twirls his lithe, lanky body round the bars at the playground, and looks over at Sousuke, who's sitting in the sand with his knees to his chest.

There's an art to this, and it does not involve anything so  _commonplace_ as saying goodbye. To distill it to a word is unromantic.

 

//

 

When Kisumi leaves, he leaves one childhood friend and tumbles headlong into the half-formed, reluctant recollections of two more. Close-mouthed Nanase Haruka and gentle Tachibana Makoto, Makoto of the springtime and the grass-green voice, speak of Rin. _Matsuoka Rin._

 _Haru_ , Kisumi calls his blue-eyed classmate, knowing that this is what Makoto calls him, what Rin used to call him. Haruka frowns, and looks away.

He slings his arm casually round Makoto's shoulders.

The beat of the ball on the court pounds, staccato, in his ears, in his veins. _One two three._ He does not think about playing with Sousuke and Rin. Those days are past.

 

//

 

If Rin had left something behind, Kisumi could have thrown it out. Said his farewell properly. If Rin had only written to him, too, like he'd written to Sousuke - if only -

 _Look_ , Rin had said, once, gazing up past the treetops and pointing out a cloud that looked like tomorrow.

_What's tomorrow shaped like?_

_Whatever you want it to be._

They were young, and Rin was unfettered.

Kisumi shaded his eyes with his free hand, followed Rin's finger where it pointed, straight and true. There - a cloud that floated low above them, drifting in the streaky cirrus sky, a cloud like -

_Like a heart._

He asked Rin what it looked like, to him.

Rin put his finger to his lips. He smiled.

 _Hi-mi-tsu,_ he said, drawing out the syllables.

Kisumi reached out, pulled the hand away from Rin's lips and tugged him to his feet. As they ran across the schoolyard and into class, Rin's fingers curled snugly round his palm, holding it tight. Rin laughed, because Kisumi's legs were longer than his and he was flying and nearly tripping over himself to keep up, Kisumi laughed, because Rin's hand was sweaty and it was so not like his usual _kakkoi_ image.

Rin kept the secret. He kept it for years, till he left.

Kisumi always thought, that if he'd twisted his head the way Rin was facing, it would have looked, perhaps, a little bit like the starting block of a swimming pool.

 

//

 

When Kisumi leaves for the second time, he leaves everyone and everything behind.

Everything, everything but -

An unanswered question, the great mystery of his innocent youth. The mirage he sees through the violet haze when he blinks.

He can't look back, so he keeps his gaze forward, and what he sees is not the Rin he knew, but the Rin that would have been; and it is a Rin who is not an image but an _idea_ , a dream of potential, of possibilities wider and more beautiful, more dangerous, than the ocean that divides them.

_Is your tomorrow what you thought it would be, Rin?_

He reaches, but at the last minute, this Rin dissolves into a sharp, sudden laugh, into fragments that pierce his skin and the memory of forearms bumping.

He blinks again, wipes the slate clean of red.

 

//

 

Rin hadn't left him anything, so there's nothing that Kisumi can discard of him.

He carries on playing basketball in high school, gets by in his classes, sees no one from his past, no one at all; spins round this new axis he's created, and conveniently throws himself into the wind. When he smiles, it's breezy. It's easy.

His heartbeat flickers, staccato, _one two three_. It is a familiar rhythm, by now.

There's an art to this, and it does not involve looking over your shoulder.

 

//

 

This is what it involves.

Dating a few girls out of the posse that hangs off your arm, perpetually. Breaking some hearts, feeling shitty and shaking it off. The sensation rides down your shoulderblades like ice.

Staying up late so that you're exhausted when you fall asleep, and you don't dream. It's cool, anyway, it's fine; even if you do, it's never like anything's set in stone so vivid that you could touch it.

Staring at your old friend when you run into him in the hospital, of all places. You see him look away angrily, clutching at his shoulder, you wonder why he didn't get in touch with you, and then you think, _well, we all moved forward_.

Smiling at your reflection in the mirror and thinking that your hair looks _great_ today.

Giving yourself a wink, and stepping away before you can see the furrow in your brow.

 

//

 

People talk to Kisumi. He's chatty, he's friendly, with a musical voice that sings like spun sugar. It's not as hard as he thinks it'll be, kicking back with Makoto and talking about Hayato's trouble with swimming. It's some weight off his chest, at the very least.

People talk to Kisumi, with one exception.

 _You got so lonely after Rin left_ , he says, holding on to Haruka's shoulders.

His grip tightens, ever so slightly.

Part of him has let his mouth run ahead of himself, accidentally-on-purpose; part of him is waiting for Haruka to roll his eyes and say, _so did you_. _No. You did._

But Haruka doesn't say that, and Kisumi smiles to himself, because why would he?

Kisumi's never lonely, after all. He's the life of the party, the star of the basketball team, and the searing beat of a hot summer wind in the air.

 

//

 

This is what it involves.

Not letting yourself ask: if Sousuke's back, does that mean - ?

 

-

 

_Yes._

 

//

 

Like a mistake unravelling, Kisumi sits next to Hayato in a stadium in Tokyo, and the floodlights spill across the lanes and make the water shimmer.

Careless. _Careless._ He's roped himself off from _tomorrow_ for so long. His eyes search the poolside, come to rest on a tall, toned figure stepping out of the tunnel.

The future's finally caught up with him.

This is the end, and this is the start all over again.

This is the art they've perfected, coming undone.

 


End file.
